


10 Things I Hate About the Avengers

by isengard



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: 10 things I Hate About You - Freeform, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, Seattle, clint sold his liver on the black market, coulson is the guidance counselor, minor appearances by other marvel characters, obviously expect some OOC, steve likes his sketchers but he loves his prada backpack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isengard/pseuds/isengard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New kid in town Tony Stark sets his sights on unattainable sophomore Steve Rogers, whose uptight father Nick Fury won't let him date until his tempestuous older sister, Natasha, does.  With the help of his friend Bruce Banner, Tony arranges to pay off the only guy crazy enough to date Natasha: senior Clint Barton, so that he'll have a shot with Steve.<br/>Things don't exactly go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Years ago, if you’d told Nick Fury he was going to be a parent, much less actually _enjoy_ being a parent; he’d have laughed you out of his office. Truth is, his life was supposed to go in a very different direction.

He’d always been career-oriented, starting a legal aide to the Secretary of Public Health, then quickly ascending the ladder until he’d been a breath away from the top position himself. In ten short years, he’d made quite a name for himself in the city of Seattle, and then, thirteen years ago, everything had changed. He’d agreed to watch his neighbor’s kids for a weekend while she went to a “job interview” in Portland, and then, in a move he should’ve seen coming, she’d skipped town and left them with him. Permanently. He’d had to delay his promotion by five years, which of course he didn’t regret _now_ , but at the time it’d been just another way these two small children had swept in and turned his whole life upside-down.

Not that they were bad kids or anything. Quite the opposite. Natasha had been bulletproof from the get-go; practically a mother to her baby brother Steve at the ripe age of five. She’d helped change diapers, fixed his food the way he liked it, even sang him to sleep every night for six months when he cried over missing their mother. And Steve was a _great_ kid, once he’d been potty trained. He was kind, thoughtful, and trusting (too trusting), athletic, smart…every father’s dream.

But every father was not Nick Fury, Secretary of Public Health for the City of Seattle. Every father was not hyper-aware of the rising incidence of HIV/AIDS, teen pregnancy, dating violence, gang activity, you name it. So when Steve transformed from a happy-go-lucky, scrawny kid into a tall, well-muscled, popular teenager, roughly a thousand alarm bells went off in Nick’s head, and he made up his mind then and there that he would do whatever it took to keep Steve from becoming another statistic. No, his boy was _not_ going to go out and knock up some girl, or catch an STD, or participate in any of those drug-fueled orgies he’d heard about going down at “raves” or whatever the heck they were called. Natasha was cynical and driven and had his perceptiveness, he liked to think, and she’d made it quite clear that she could fight her own battles. For the most part, he let her.

He’d never counted on having to be a father. Some might call his methods flawed – Natasha’d called him Puritanical on more than one occasion, and Steve mostly called him “ _so_ severely unhinged”, but it was the best way he knew to keep his kids safe. And considering neither of them were dead, incarcerated, addicted to illegal substances, or parents themselves, he felt he was doing a pretty respectable job.


	2. Welcome to Padua High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No doubt. It’d be my – _whoa_.” Every thought of arc reactors, science feuds, and hipsters left his mind as the single most beautiful boy he’d ever seen in his life walked in front of them. He was pretty sure time slowed down as the boy passed them, each wrinkle in his faded jeans etching itself into Tony’s mind, each microscopic muscle movement in his jaw as he laughed solidifying in Tony’s memory like a chiseled engraving on a stone. The guy was tall, built, blonde-haired and blue-eyed like some all-American porn star in an obscenely tight white t-shirt, the visibly defined muscles in his back sending heat directly to Tony’s groin. “Holy. What group is _he_ in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so you guys know, I'm currently in Hawaii for a week so I won't be updating until like the 11th or 12th. and then updates will come faster!! thanks so much for reading!

“Stark? Are you Tony Stark?”

Tony finished stuffing his textbooks into his locker and turned to see an eager-faced guy in a stiff purple button-up appraising him from behind thick-rimmed glasses. “In the flesh,” he replied quickly, extending a hand.

“Bruce Banner. Aide to the Vice-Principal. I’ll be showing you around.”

Tony grinned and shook his hand. “Rad. Nice to meet you, Bruce. Usually they deploy an audio/visual geek or something to do the honors.” He nodded at a red-haired kid pushing a cart with a projector towards them.

Bruce straightened. “Oh, I know. So lame.”

The red-haired kid called, “Hey, Bruce, Xavier wants to know where the slideshow – ” his inquiry was cut short as an elbow cuff from a stout guy in a letterman’s jacket sent him sprawling. No one in the hallway appeared to take any notice beyond adjusting their walking trajectories around him.

Bruce rubbed the back of his head and looked at the ground. “Weird. He must’ve had me confused with someone else.”

Tony blinked, only half-listening. New schools were always _so_ overwhelming – not that he wasn’t used to the dance, with the amount of moving around they’d done, but still. It was always a lot to take in. Padua High in Seattle was his first ever public school; his parents had called it an exercise in “character building”, which, yeah right, they probably just missed the application deadline and didn’t feel like paying off any more school administrators. It suited him fine, but it was a lot more _people_ than he was used to. The chaotic mess of students in the hallways almost made him nostalgic for uniforms and dormitories.

Almost.

“Anyways, come on, let’s get you checked in at the counseling office.” Bruce gave his arm a tug, snapping him out of his thoughts, and they set off towards the office together.

\--

“Be right with you.” His guidance counselor, a guy named Phil Coulson, was sitting opposite him behind a desk and had been staring intently at his laptop screen for over a minute. Tony looked around and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The office contained few personal touches beyond a large coffee mug with a badger on it and several framed trading cards on the walls. Finally, Coulson sighed and closed the laptop.

“Tony.” He shuffled some papers and handed Tony a copy of his class schedule and the Student Handbook. “I see you’ve moved around a bit.” He whistled softly as his eyes drifted down Tony’s transcript. “Got kicked out a few boarding schools, have we?”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe a couple. Who hasn’t?”

Coulson fixed him with an unreadable look, then nodded. “You’re not wrong. Although I have to say, I’m surprised to see the son of Howard Stark enrolling in public school.”

“Ah, well – it’s complicated. See, my dad – ”

“Yes, of course,” Coulson interrupted. “Very interesting. Well, Tony, Padua may not be Andover, but I think you’ll find its contents no different from any of your other schools.” He smiled grimly as what appeared to be a series of spitballs splattered over the window. “Same little ass-wipe-shit-for-brains everywhere.”

Tony jerked in his seat; positive he’d heard the guy wrong. “I – wait – did you just –?” Was he even in the right office?

Coulson sighed again and looked down at his desk. “Well, Tony, I’m sure we’ll meet again soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got deviants to see and a novel to finish.”

“Okay. Sure.” Tony got up quickly, almost knocking over his chair and a delicate-looking statue of the Space Needle in the process. He slid out of the room and narrowly avoided colliding with another guy on his way in; a blonde guy in a leather jacket and Doc Martens in such a state of disrepair that Tony almost made a remark about it no longer being the ‘90s. However, the guy looked like he could have him on his ass in about half a second, so he suppressed the urge.

“Clint Barton.” Coulson’s voice had taken on a tired sort of edge, and Tony paused to listen. “I see we’re making our visits a weekly ritual.”

Clint chuckled. “Only so we can have these moments together, Phil.” Tony smirked to himself and made a mental note to ask Bruce about this Clint Barton guy. “Should I get the lights?”

“Funny,” Coulson replied dryly. “So tell me, why am I hearing reports that you exposed yourself to several staff and students in the cafeteria?”

“No, it’s not like that. I was joking around with the lunch lady,” Clint protested. “It’s Oktoberfest! You know. I was just showing her my bratwurst.”

“Your…bratwurst.” There was an echo of heavy footsteps, and then Coulson cleared his throat. “ _Well_. Aren’t we the optimist.”

“Hey! Tony!” He didn’t get a chance to hear Clint’s response, because Bruce was suddenly waving at him from across the office. “Let’s go! Class starts in five!”

\--

Tony felt more at ease once his first few classes were behind him. He was only a sophomore, but he was in all the senior AP science classes, which were collectively shaping up to be cakewalks for him. By the time lunch rolled around, he was feeling pretty damn good about this whole public school thing.

“So, allow me to give you the rundown here,” Bruce began as they entered the cafeteria, clapping him on the shoulder. “Over there,” he pointed to a group of jock-types in jerseys and cheerleading uniforms, “are your basic beautiful people. Don’t even bother talking to them unless they talk to you first.”

Tony snorted. “What the fuck? Why not?”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Bruce waved to one of the jersey-d guys. “Hey, Scott! How’s it going?”

Scott slid his sunglasses down his nose and looked between them disbelievingly. “Eat me, Banner.” His friends exchanged meaningful glances as they passed.

“Like I said,” Bruce sighed. “Don’t even bother. Now, here we’ve got – ”

“Let me guess,” Tony injected. “Gamers.” Their table was utterly silent except for the occasional groan of disbelief or cry of triumph as they stared intently at their computer screens. He paused at the table next to them, where everyone also had their laptops open, but were acting very differently. Some were typing frantically, others were giggling, others were sobbing and banging their foreheads against the table in distress.

“Bloggers,” Bruce whispered. “Don’t make any sudden movements.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “You’re giving me a lot to process here.”

“Don’t worry, we’re almost done. Those are the hipsters you see over there by the coffee stand; if you’re ever bored, you can ask them if they’ve heard of Radiohead. Um, let’s see, stoners, imminent dropouts, Born-Again Christians…yeah, I think that about covers it! Oh, and _here_ ,” his tone took on a hint of smugness, “we’ve got your future engineers, scientific visionaries, etc. We’re all on the Ivy track, of course – hey guys! Solved the reactor equation yet?”

“Put it away, Hank!” a skinny dark-haired guy hissed. The rest of the table glared openly at them. Tony shot Bruce a wary look.

Bruce seemed to shrink a little and pulled Tony away. “Yesterday, I was their _god_ ,” he muttered.

“What happened?”

“Reed Richards started a rumor that…that my transition lenses are knockoffs. I know,” he said, wrongly interpreting sympathy in Tony’s expression. “I know. It was a hostile takeover and I should’ve seen it coming. But he’ll pay. I just have to solve the arc reactor equation before they do, which I will, and then I’ll be back in their good graces.”

Tony almost burst out laughing. “The _arc reactor_ equation?”

“Yeah, it’s a new technology for sustainable – ”

“I know what it is,” Tony grinned. “My dad invented it. I can solve your equation, if you want.”

Bruce stopped in his tracks. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Swear to god.”

“Your dad is _Howard Stark_?”

“The one and only. I’m not big into advertising it, but, yeah.”

“Well, technology moguls aren’t exactly news in this town, so you should be relatively safe,” Bruce mused. “Bill Gates lives on the other side of the lake.”

“Yeah, I know. We’ve had dinner there a few times.”

“Unbelievable.” Bruce ran a hand through his dark unkempt hair. “Well, that’s awesome. If you can help me with the equation, I mean.”

“No doubt. It’d be my – _whoa_.” Every thought of arc reactors, science feuds, and hipsters left his mind as the single most beautiful boy he’d ever seen in his life walked in front of them. He was pretty sure time slowed down as the boy passed them, each wrinkle in his faded jeans etching itself into Tony’s mind, each microscopic muscle movement in his jaw as he laughed solidifying in Tony’s memory like a chiseled engraving on a stone. The guy was tall, built, blonde-haired and blue-eyed like some all-American porn star in an obscenely tight white t-shirt, the visibly defined muscles in his back sending heat directly to Tony’s groin. “Holy. What group is _he_ in?”

Bruce gave him a sad sort of sideways glance. “The Don’t-Even-Think-About-It group. That’s Steve Rogers. He’s a sophomore, like you.”

Tony’s jaw had fallen open, and he snapped it shut with a groan. “Jesus fucking christ. I burn, I pine, I perish!”

“Of course.” Bruce nudged him with an elbow. “Get a grip. I know he’s a good-looking guy, but come on.”

“No, that doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Tony disagreed. He felt a familiar buzz settle over him as, without even meaning to, he pictured Steve naked and then filed the image away for later.

“Fine, okay, he’s good-looking and then some. Very deep, too, I’m sure.” Bruce rolled his eyes. Steve had stopped a short distance in front of them and was talking to his friend, another tall guy with long blonde hair and biceps thicker than Tony’s head.

“Dude, it’s like this,” Steve said in a carrying voice. “There’s totally a difference between ‘like’ and ‘love’. It’s like, an intensity thing.”

His friend frowned. “I do not understand.”

“So, for example, I _like_ my Jordans, but I _love_ my North Face.” 

His friend looked unconvinced. “But I love my Jordans.”

Steve shrugged. “Probably because you don’t have a North Face. My point still stands.”

His friend appeared to think for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, that’s probably it.”

A tug on his arm brought Tony’s attention back to Bruce. “Listen to me very carefully, Tony. Forget about him. Steve’s dad is the Secretary of Public Health; he’s very well known and _very_ uptight. It’s common knowledge that Steve and his sister Natasha aren’t allowed to date.”

“Yeah,” Tony breathed, not hearing his friend at all. “Sure. Whatever.”

He had three more classes that day, but he didn’t hear a word the teachers said in any of them.

\--

“So, you survived your first day at Padua!” Bruce tossed him a soda and he drank from it gratefully. “How was AP Physics? I hear that class is a bitch.”

Tony shook his head and grinned. “I aced that shit in like, grade seven. Prodigy, remember?”

Bruce laughed. “That’s gotta suck. You must be so bored.”

“I’ve managed to keep myself occupied.” Tony half-sighed the last word as Steve came through the doors into the courtyard, the sunlight dancing across his face and making him look like a goddamn superhero. 

“’Sup, guys?” A lean, dark-haired guy with designer jeans and outstanding bone structure had approached Steve and his friend, leering ever so slightly. “Need a ride?”

Steve blushed, and Tony’s stomach turned. “Who the fuck is that douchewad?” he asked Bruce, not taking his eyes off of them.

“Ah. That’s Loki Laufeyson. He is, as you pointed out, a grade-A douche. Rich, too. He’s probably the closest thing Padua has to a socialite.” He motioned to Steve’s friend, who was rather unsubtly checking Loki out. “He and Thor are like, second cousins or something.”

“Ugh, why is Steve even talking to that asshole?” Tony could feel the skeeviness rolling off Loki in waves from across the courtyard; there was no _way_ Steve couldn’t feel it too.

Bruce shrugged. “Because that’s probably the kind of guy Steve’s gonna end up with?”

“What? No way.”

“Hey man, if you want to try, by all means. I’m sure you’re richer than him. But here, it’s all about status, and guys like Steve get to shop on the top tier. They don’t slum with guys like us.”

“That,” Tony pronounced emphatically. “Is total bullshit. Steve wouldn’t buy into that crap. Look at him, he’s like… _pure_. No, sorry Bruce, there’s more to him than you think.”

“You are losing it, man.” Bruce shook his head sympathetically. They continued walking to the parking lot, and Tony tried to get close enough to hear Steve and Thor’s conversation. 

Thor was in the midst of a semantic inquiry. “Okay, so I know you can be overwhelmed, right?” he asked. “And you can be underwhelmed. But is there such a thing as just being whelmed?”

Steve looked thoughtful. “You know what; I think in Europe there is.”

Thor laughed. “Go figure. Dude, Loki is totally going to ask you out.”

“Yeah right,” Steve sighed, and Tony was horrified to hear dismay in his tone. “You know my dad would never go for it.”

“Your dad is certifiable,” Thor replied.

“That’s true. Oh, wow, look at his new whip.” Thor’s low whistle mingled with the squeal of tires as Loki maneuvered his Audi convertible to a stop in front of the boys. He shot them what looked like a rehearsed grin and threw his arm behind the passenger headrest.

“Hop in, guys.”

“Awesome,” Steve breathed, and then they were zooming off, leaving Tony with a distinctly unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“Sorry, bro.” Bruce patted him on the back. “I think you’re gonna have to let this one go. Jesus – ”

An ancient Oldsmobile revving forward almost cut him off at the knees. A red haired girl stuck her head out the window and shouted, “It’s easier to watch where you’re going if you remove your head from your ass first!” They jumped out of the way and she shot past them, loud rock music blaring through her windows.

“You okay?” Tony asked his friend.

Bruce brushed himself off. “Fine. Just a minor encounter with The Shrew. That’s Steve’s sister, by the way. Natasha Romanoff. Different dads, or something.”

Tony’s jaw fell open for the second time that day. “ _That’s_ Steve’s sister?”

“See what you’d be getting yourself into?” Bruce looked at him pointedly. “All right, I gotta run, but if it’s still cool, I’ll text you later about that equation.”

Tony nodded distractedly. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Sweet.” Bruce started up his moped and pulled the helmet on. “Take it easy, Stark.”

“You too,” Tony remembered to say long after Bruce was in hearing range. He walked to his car and paused with his hand on the door. He’d find a way to get to Steve. Bruce might not know it, but Tony wasn’t one to give up easily, and when he wanted something, he usually figured out a way to get it. Granted, Steve was a person and not a multi-core processor, but still. He’d crack it. He was Tony fucking Stark, after all. Even in public school, that had to count for something.

\--

It was widely thought throughout school, around the whole town probably, that Natasha was cold and unfeeling. She didn’t mind that reputation most days, but it wasn’t at all accurate. For instance, when she beat Steve home despite stopping for tacos, she felt anxious. She knew it was probably nothing; that Loki was just taking them on some stupid scenic route by the beach, but she couldn’t help it. She paced around the house for several minutes, debating calling Steve on his cell phone, and eventually decided to just sit by the window and read The Bell Jar for the hundredth time.

Steve got home roughly five seconds before their father, his hair windswept in such a way that he looked even younger than fifteen. She felt his happiness like a stab in the gut. _If only he knew_ …but no. He was too young; too naive. She couldn’t put that on him.

Her father appeared over her shoulder with a stack of mail. “Afternoon, Natasha,” he said conversationally. “How was school? Make anyone cry today?”

She smirked up at him. “Sadly, no. But it’s only 4:30.”

He laughed and smoothed her hair. “That’s my girl.” Nick wasn’t her biological father, it was true, but she’d punch anyone who dared to say he wasn’t her “real” father. He could’ve shipped them off to foster care when their mother abandoned them. Instead, he’d cared for them, fought for them, did everything for them since she was five years old. To her, it didn’t get any more “real” than that.

He frowned at a large envelope. “Sarah Lawrence? Why are we getting mail from Sarah Lawrence?”

She shrieked and snatched the envelope from his hands, tearing it open and frantically reading the first few lines of the documents within. 

_Dear Ms. Natasha Romanoff: We are pleased to announce you have been accepted_ – 

“Oh my god, I got in!” she gasped. Steve wandered into the living room with a huge, dripping sandwich to see what all the fuss was about. “I can’t believe it! I got in!”

Her father’s expression clouded. “You got in…to Sarah Lawrence? I didn’t even know you were applying there.”

“I applied early,” she told him breathlessly.

“Tash,” he said sternly. “The last time I checked, Sarah Lawrence was on the other side of the country.”

She nodded. “Well, yeah. That’s the basis of its appeal.” She immediately felt guilty as a flash of hurt crossed her father’s face, but he _had_ to understand. She was like him, despite their lack of blood relation. She needed to strike out on her own; make her own experiences. And to do that, she needed to get as far away from high school as possible.

“You’re going across the country for college?” Steve asked through a bite of sandwich. He sounded a little too excited at the idea, and she scowled.

“Dad, ask Steve who he got a ride home with.”

“Uh-uh, don’t you change the subject on me, young – ride?” He turned to Steve, his expression hard. “Who gave you a ride home, son?”

Steve sat down heavily on the couch. “Dad, please don’t freak out, okay, but there’s this guy – ”

“Oh, no.”

“ – and I _think_ that he might ask me – ”

“Yeah, I think I know what he’s going to ask you, Steven, and I think you know the answer, too.”

“But – ”

“No! No, Steve. The answer is always ‘no’. The answer will always _be_ ‘no’. What are the two rules in this house?” He looked at them expectantly. “Number One: No Dating Until You Graduate. Number Two: _No Dating Until You Graduate_.”

“You forgot tattoos,” Steve added dejectedly.

“Right. That too.”

“It’s just – ” Steve swallowed another large bite and sucked mustard off his finger. “I’m like, the _only_ person in school who isn’t dating. It seems kind of unfair.”

Their father blinked. “No, you’re not. Your sister doesn’t date.”

Natasha, who’d resumed flipping through The Bell Jar, gave a short nod. “And I don’t intend to.”

“Come on, Dad, you can’t hold everyone to that standard. Natasha’s a freaking _robot_ , it’s not – ”

A stillness fell over the room as Steve realized he’d gone too far. He looked to his sister. “I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t mean that.”

“No, it’s fine.” She’d felt the pang of hurt when he’d called her that, but she kept it out of her voice. “If not wanting to take off my pants for a bunch of unwashed miscreants makes me a robot, then so be it.”

“You _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

“I really don’t care, Steve.”

“Tash – ”

“Okay, kids. Here’s how we solve this one.” Their father rubbed his hands together and studied them both seriously. “Steve can date.”

Two sets of eyes fixed him with incredulous stares.

“Steve can date…when Natasha does.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. “But – you can’t – what if she _never_ dates?”

Nick smiled broadly. “Then I guess you’ll never date. And I’ll get to sleep at night.” He stretched his arms and sighed contentedly. “The deep, uninterrupted slumber of a father who’s children aren’t off being impregnated or contracting AIDS.” His phone rang, and he glanced down at the Caller ID before pointing to Natasha. “We’ll discuss Sarah Lawrence later. I have to take this.”

Steve jumped up. “ _Dad_ – ”

But their father was already out the door.

Natasha laughed at her brother’s forlorn expression. “Come on, Steve. It’s not that bad. Not like he can actually stop you, you know. Once you turn eighteen.”

Steve crossed his arms. “It’s not about that, Tash. I just want him to trust me.”

“He does trust you. It’s other people – ”

“I am _so_ tired of that.” He stood up. “It’s such bullshit. If he actually trusted me, then he’d let _me_ figure out for myself who to trust!”

She frowned. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it kind of is. You don’t understand. You think he trusts you, Tash, but he just knows he doesn’t have to worry about you because you don’t trust _anyone_.”

She felt the weight of his words like a slap in the face. “Well, excuse me for not putting a lot of stock in your powers of discernment, Steve, if your list of trustworthy people includes Loki Laufeyson.”

Steve shrugged. “I know he’s kind of a tool, but he’s nice and he actually makes an effort.”

“You don’t know him, Steve.”

“Uh-huh. Well, excuse _me_ for not putting a lot of “stock” in your cryptic warnings, Tash. All I want is a normal date, with a normal guy, and then I can make up my own mind about whether I want to do it again, okay? And I know you and Dad aren’t gonna let me have it. I don’t want to fight with you, but I want you to know that I think it’s really shitty.” He finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I’ll be in my room.”

She thought about going after him, but decided against it. Privately, she agreed with him, not that she’d ever admit it. It didn’t change anything, though. Maybe Steve was old enough to make mistakes; maybe he was smart enough to resist the creepy advances of people like Loki. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to give him the chance the make the same mistakes she had.


	3. New Rules, New Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, hold up.” Tony was having an idea. Perhaps even a _genius_ idea. “Let’s think about this. People risk their lives for fun all the time, right? Jumping out of planes, skiing off cliffs, going down in those shark cage things. This could be like…Extreme Dating.”
> 
> Steve looked impressed, and Tony gave himself a moment to memorize that look, because he figured he’d need it to hold onto when this whole thing went south. “You really think you could find someone _that_ extreme?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this update took so long! I was in Hawaii (so really, not that sorry) but future updates will come faster! thanks for reading!

You’d never know it, but Natasha actually liked her English class. She’d always loved to read anything she could get her hands on, even the overwhelmingly dull male-centered public school curriculum their fascist superintendent kept prescribing. She had Anna Karenina practically memorized, and she harbored a not-so-secret love for the Brontés, although once she discovered most of the girls in her school romanticized Heathcliff, she’d been wary of who she shared that information with.

Her English teacher, Isaiah Bradley, really wasn’t all that bad either. He was an ex-Marine who was a lot older than he looked, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy teaching, even if most of his enjoyment was found in berating his students. At any rate, they almost all looked up to him, and his class was one of the few she truly looked forward to.

Or it would’ve been, had it not been for a certain fuckwad that sat two seats back in the row next to her.

“Sorry, Bradley,” Loki drawled, tapping his pencil against his desk in a bored way. “My shoot ran late last night and I couldn’t finish the reading. I brought a note from my agent, if you’d like.”

Their teacher looked unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Feel free to spend the rest of the class period fixing your mascara, Loki. I’ll be sure to write your _agent_ a note informing him you left no lash unturned.”

Chuckles sounded throughout the room, but Bradley’s stern expression didn’t change. “All right, everyone. What did you all think of _The Sun Also Rises_?”

Bobbi Morse’s hand shot up, and Natasha fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I loved it,” the blonde girl purred. “He’s so romantic.”

Before she could stop herself, Natasha let out a derisive snort. “Romantic? _Hemingway_?”

The entire classroom seemed to let out a collective groan, which only made her more determined to make her point. “He was an abusive alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso, trying to nail his leftovers.” She sat back in her seat and cast a threatening glance around, daring anyone to contradict her. Assuming any of them even knew who Picasso was.

“That’s pretty rich coming from a bitter, self-righteous hag who has _no_ friends,” Loki sneered. “Forget your Midol today, Tash?” He collected a high-five from Norman Osborne. “Mr. Bradley, is there any way we could impose some kind of PMS barrier before Tash comes to class?”

Bradley raised his eyebrows at Loki. “Someday, you’re gonna get bitch-slapped,” he said matter-of-factly. “And you know what? I’m not gonna do a damn thing to stop it.” 

_More than bitch-slapped_ , Natasha thought to herself. She’d been unfolding a paper clip and imagining all the different ways she could use it to horrifically maim him; put out his eyes, puncture his eardrums, slip it right between his ribs under his armpit and rupture his spleen – well, she could save that for if and when he messed with Steve. God help that stupid motherfucker if he messed with Steve.

She turned back to Bradley. “I just don’t understand why we’re still reading this antiquated bullshit when there are authors out there like Sylvia Plath and Simone De Beauvoir, or even _Austen_ ,” she allowed, unable to keep a small scowl off her face. “It’s outrageous that the girls in this class get Desdemona and Brett Ashley to represent us, and that’s when we get a book that actually _has_ prominent female characters – ”

Her diatribe was cut short by the sudden appearance of Clint Barton, chronic truant extraordinaire, in the doorway. The messenger bag swinging at his side looked suspiciously light, like it was purely there for decoration. “What’d I miss?” he asked brightly.

“Nothing much; just the oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education,” Natasha told him.

He blinked, then nodded enthusiastically. “Good!” Without another word, he turned and walked back out of the classroom. Several students began whispering.

“Settle.” Bradley held up his hand. “You’ll forgive me for not being overly sympathetic to your white-girl tears, Romanoff. I don’t know what you suburban kids complain about when you storm the PTA or whatever, but next time you do that, why don’t you ask Superintendent Zemo about your school’s literary representation of minorities?”

“Tell ‘em, brother!” a voice called from the back of the room.

Bradley shook his head. “Don’t even get me started on you, Wilson. How many times have I told you not to eat chimichangas in my class?”

Mercifully, Wade’s mouth was too full for him to respond.

Their teacher walked back to the front of the room and tapped his fingers against the podium irritably. “You know what, Tash, go to the office. I don’t feel like dealing with you today.”

She sat up. “What? But – ”

“Nope. Out.”

This was _massively_ unfair, but she knew a lost battle when she saw one. “Fine.” She gathered her stuff and marched out, making sure to give Loki a dead arm with a well-placed pinch to his pressure point. He sagged in his seat, and she smiled in satisfaction.

 

Coulson looked sour when he poked his head out of his office and saw her sitting there. “You’re early today,” he said humorlessly. “Give me just a moment. Maria?”

Vice-Principal Hill looked up from her desk.

Coulson adjusted his glasses. “What’s another word for ‘engorged’?”

Hill narrowed her eyes warily. “Um…I’ll look it up.”

Coulson gave her a brief smile. “Thanks. Okay, Natasha. You may enter.”

He was frowning at his computer screen as she took her seat across from him. “Swollen,” he muttered to himself. “Turgid.”

“Tumescent?” Natasha offered.

He looked up at her in surprise. “That works.” He typed for a few seconds, and then slid the laptop to the other side of his desk.

“So.” He seemed to be waiting for her to confess something, and when she didn’t, he sighed and looked down at the yellow slip she’d brought him. “I see you were terrorizing Mr. Bradley’s class. Again.”

“Expressing my opinion is hardly a terrorist action,” Natasha argued.

“’Expressing your opinion’, huh? Like how you ‘expressed your opinion’ to Matthew Murdock?” Coulson went on, crossing his arms. “His testical retrieval operation went well, in case you were interested.”

Natasha shrugged. “Like I told you before; he kicked himself in the balls.”

“Right.” Coulson cast a longing glance at his laptop, and then leaned forward across the desk, clasping his hands together. “Here’s the crux of the issue, Natasha. I don’t know if you’re aware, but you’ve acquired something of a reputation here at Padua. It may even be statewide at this point.”

Natasha didn’t blink, but she allowed her mouth to twitch in a small smile.

“People perceive you to be somewhat…” he seemed to be searching for the right words.

“Tempestuous?”

“’Heinous bitch’ is the term used most often, actually,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Also ‘terrifying’, ‘Lorena Bobbit’, ‘psychotic lesbotron’; the list goes on.”

She didn’t think continuing to smile was the right reaction, but she couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. “No shit.”

“None at all, I’m afraid,” Coulson said. “You might want to work on that.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Coulson sat back and shuffled some papers together. “I think that about covers it. See you next time, Natasha.”

She stood and pulled her backpack over her shoulders. “As always, Coulson, thanks for your excellent guidance.” She cast a glance behind her as she left the room and added, “I’ll let you get back to Aquaman’s quivering member.”

\--

Phil studied his laptop and frowned thoughtfully to himself. “Quivering member,” he mused. “I like that.”

 _As he slid his hands up Superman’s luscious, elegant thighs, Aquaman could feel the Kryptonean’s huge member quivering with desire_.

He reread the sentence. “Yes,” he said out loud. “It’s perfect.”

\--

Tony was sweating.

He was sitting in the library, fervently combing through his Spanish 100 book, trying to learn verb conjugation as rapidly and thoroughly as possible. He’d always been a quick study because, _hello_ , genius, but romance languages were harder to master than nuclear physics. He’d never bothered much with them because he could always just invent a translator, but then Bruce had come through like a champ with the news that Steve needed a Spanish tutor, and it’d been like a huge arrow labeled DESTINY pointing Tony towards the tutoring center. He’d somehow managed to bullshit his way into the gig, and now, here he was. Waiting. For Steve Rogers. Learning Spanish as fast as his synapses would allow.

And he was sweating.

He was concentrating so hard that he jumped when Steve’s breathtakingly athletic form slid into the seat next opposite him. “Hi,” Steve said breathlessly, extending his hand and glancing at something over Tony’s shoulder. “Sorry I’m late. Pietro and Scott were having an epic slapfight in the parking lot, again. I got distracted.”

Tony realized he was staring way too hard at Steve’s mouth. “Uh-huh. Distracted,” he muttered to himself. “Wouldn’t know anything about that. Okay.” He flipped his book to the first chapter and tried not to look at Steve any more intensely than he needed to. “So, I was thinking we’d start with some basic vocab and conjugation?”

Steve rubbed the back of his head. “Ugh, sure. I don’t suppose I have any alternative.”

This was his moment. “Well,” Tony began, feeling a shudder of pleasure rush through him as Steve looked up in interest. “There is – there _could_ be an alternative, if you want.” His throat was very dry. “Spanish, um, movies? There’s a theater over on 45th that plays foreign films. They have subtitles and stuff.”

Steve looked completely confused. “Movies?”

“We could, uh, go together?” Tony’s heart was pounding way too fast, and the innocent, perplexed look in Steve’s blue eyes was so not helping. “To see one?”

“Are you – are you asking me _out_?” Steve whispered, looking excited about the prospect. Tony’s stomach flipped. “Cool! What’s your name again?”

Well, if he’d ever been curious about what it felt like to be cut off at the knees, he no longer needed to wonder. “Um. It’s Tony.”

“Right, sorry.”

“It’s cool. I was just thinking, I mean, it doesn’t have to be a date, like I know you’re not allowed to date and all, but maybe if it was for class…”

“Hold up, Tommy,” Steve began slowly.

“It’s Ton – ”

“My dad actually laid down a new rule the other night. I’m allowed to date – when my sister does.”

“Wait, seriously?” Tony’s heart was out of his stomach and back to his throat. “That’s awesome!”

“Un poco problemo, Topher,” Steve shook his head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my sister is not exactly beloved around here.”

“Yeah, I noticed she’s a little bit…” he paused. “Scary” seemed like the wrong word. “…antisocial. Why is that?”

Steve shrugged. “Beats me. She used to be really popular, actually. Cheerleader and all that. And then one day, she just wasn’t. It’s like she got sick of it or something.”

“Interesting.” Tony flexed his fingers against the table.

“Yeah, she won’t talk about it. Not to me, anyways. Whatever happened, no one will go near her now.” He looked sad. “Probably for the best.”

Tony frowned. “She’s very pretty, I’m sure there are plenty of guys who wouldn’t mind – ”

“The last guy who touched her is recovering from testical retrieval surgery,” Steve said grimly. “Not that he didn’t have it coming. But still.”

“Huh.” Tony scratched his chin. “I could see that being a bit of a deterrent.”

“Just a little,” Steve agreed. “But, yeah. Basically, my situation has not improved.”

“Well, hold up.” Tony was having an idea. Perhaps even a _genius_ idea. “Let’s think about this. People risk their lives for fun all the time, right? Jumping out of planes, skiing off cliffs, going down in those shark cage things. This could be like…Extreme Dating.”

Steve looked impressed, and Tony gave himself a moment to memorize that look, because he figured he’d need it to hold onto when this whole thing went south. “You really think you could find someone _that_ extreme?”

Tony very severely doubted there was anyone with that little self-preservation at their school, but he kept that to himself. “I can try,” he vowed.

“Seriously, man? You’d do that for me?” Steve was positively beaming, and Tony felt his jaw go slack into a stupid grin in response.

“ _Hell_ yes I’d – uh, look into it. You know.”

“Wow, Tristan, you’re like, the best Spanish tutor ever.” Steve stood up and stretched, giving Tony a warm smile that made his brain a little fuzzy. “Hey, is there any chance we could finish this up later? I’m being summoned to practice.” He nodded in the direction of a group of football players.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Tony agreed quickly. “You’ve got my email, I think. In the tutoring packet.”

Steve gave him a thumbs up and then jogged over to his friends. Tony found his eyes glazing over as Steve’s perfectly sculpted ass bounded away from him. “Hate to see him go, but love to watch him leave,” he muttered to himself. “Oh god, I need help.”

 

A few days later, he and Bruce had managed to track down every guy in the school they thought might be crazy enough to attempt a romance with Natasha. “I’m feeling good about this, Tony,” Bruce said as they walked toward the science lab everyone was meeting at. “These guys are all pretty certifiable. One of them’s bound to be our man.”

“All right,” Tony addressed the six decidedly wild-looking guys that’d shown up. “Glad you all could make it. I’m going to – uh – present to you, if you will, an exciting opportunity for one of you to get some serious street cred around here.”

“If you can pull this off, it’ll be the most unbelievable stunt the school has ever seen,” Bruce added.

Everyone looked interested, Tony noted with pleasure. He rocked back on his heels and clasped his hands together. “Okay. How would you feel about going out with Natasha Romanoff?”

A red-haired guy with a facial tattoo raised his hand. “Um, I’m all for trying new things, but I’m pretty sure that’s just suicidal.”

His blonde friend nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I’d rather put makeup on a bear.”

Bruce crossed his arms. “Okay, thanks for that, Longshot. Star, I thought you were into dudes anyways.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. Those must’ve been nicknames. Then again, there were a lot of hippie parents in Seattle.

Star pointed at Tony. “What about him? Is he available?”

“Let’s you and me talk after,” Tony said quickly, not wanting to get off the subject. The guy _was_ cute, but now was not the time.

Bruce’s eyes fell upon another blonde guy Tony recognized from his shop class who was carving a smiley face into the desk with a penknife. “Wade?”

“Pass,” Wade shook his head. “I’ve never been _that_ ripped.”

“Volstagg?”

The huge senior rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “But only if we were the last two people on earth, and there were no goats.” He looked up hopefully. “Are there goats?”

“Oookay,” Tony said loudly. “Good to know. Kurt?”

Kurt’s creepy yellow-ish eyes were wide under his hood. He shook his head slowly. “No way in hell,” he whispered.

Tony swore under his breath and turned his attention on their last hope, a scared looking junior in a green sweatshirt. “Bob?”

“Uh, I’m just here with Wade,” Bob replied, glancing sideways at his friend.

Tony felt like a deflated balloon.

“You guys are nuts,” Wade announced through a large bite of a burrito he seemed to have procured out of thin air. “It’s admirable, don’t get me wrong, but Tash will one hundred percent murder you if she even finds out this meeting took place.” He shuddered. “I’ve seen her at the firing range, man. She could legit be KGB or some shit.”

“That’s very comforting.” Tony sat down and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Okay, well, you guys can go. Thanks for coming, I guess.”

As he walked dejectedly towards the parking lot with Bruce, he felt something in his back pocket. It was a slip of paper with a phone number on it. “For a good time, call – _Shatterstar_? Oh come on, that is _so_ not a real name.”

Bruce peered over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure his real name is even weirder. His parents are foreign, or something.”

“Right.” Tony stuffed the paper back into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, so what do we do now?”

Bruce stopped walking suddenly. “What about – no, never mind.”

“What?”

“I just thought – well, what if we upped the incentive?”

It took Tony a moment to realize what Bruce meant, and then he felt like hitting himself. “Oh my god, _yes_ , duh.”

Bruce nodded. “Most people will do just about anything for the right price.”

“Damnit! We should’ve offered them money,” Tony groaned. “Shit.”

“No, forget those guys,” Bruce said. “I doubt she’d have gone for any of them. We’ve got to find a new guy. Someone that doesn’t scare easily…and needs money.”

“Or just _wants_ money.” Tony pointed to himself with his thumb. “I’m Tony Stark, remember? I’m a seasoned pro at paying people to do shit for me. Overpaying, even. Trust me, money’s no object here. We don’t have to focus solely on the desperate ones.”

Bruce laughed. “Okay then. Let’s brainstorm.”

\--

“Get the fuck off my car, Wade!” Loki yelled. He’d been waiting for that asshole to show up for like, twenty minutes, and when he’d finally decided to just forget it and head home, he found Wade sprawled across the hood of his Audi, smelling like he hadn’t bathed in a week, except maybe in hot sauce.

Wade didn’t move, just chucked a pill bottle at Loki that hit him in the center of his chest with surprising force. “You owe me three hundred,” he said.

“I already put it in your locker,” Loki replied curtly. “Where you were supposed to meet me. Where the hell were you?”

“Oh, right. Funny story, actually. Couple of science geeks tried to convince me to go out with fucking Natasha Romanoff.” He grinned in Loki’s direction. “I mean, shit. Maybe if they were _paying_ me…like, a million fucking dollars.” 

“God, yeah. You couldn’t pay me enough,” Loki agreed. _Actually_ , he thought privately, _I’d pay to hit that again_. “Her brother, on the other hand…” he winked at Wade. “Give me an hour alone with him, I’d have that ass on a _leash_.” 

Wade snorted. “You’re a sick piece of shit,” he said dryly. “I should know; I’m a sick piece of shit too.” He hopped up off Loki’s hood with more agility than Loki thought the situation called for. “If those bills aren’t in my locker, I’m taking it out of your baby here.”

Loki scowled. “You take it out of my car; I’m taking it out of your face.”

That got a real laugh. “Good talk,” Wade grinned. “You know where to find me when you need a refill.”

“Yo, Frosty!” He looked up to see Namor walking over, clearly just out of the pool. Not that his friend needed an excuse to walk around in a Speedo. He was using Loki’s nickname from when he was on the swim team, given to him when he outlasted the rest of the guys two years in a row during the Polar Plunge, a stupid drunken initiation that involved jumping into the freezing cold lake in the middle of January. Loki hated that stupid tradition, but he'd always forced himself to win it on principle.

“Put some clothes on, you indecent fuck,” Loki greeted him with a smirk.

Namor smiled self-assuredly. “Don’t worry bro, it’s perfectly normal to pop a semi around this,” he gestured to himself. “I don’t swing that way, but I’m flattered.”

“So, listen to this,” Loki changed the subject. “Wilson just told me a couple of nerds asked him to take out Natasha. Like a date, not like, murder.”

Namor nodded. “Thanks for clarifying. With Wilson, the latter honestly wouldn’t surprise me.”

“What do you think’s up with that?”

His friend shrugged. “Maybe they’re trying to get with her brother.”

Loki blinked. “Holy shit.” A thousand lightbulbs flashed in his mind. “Holy _shit_.” It was _genius_. Leave it to a couple of geeks to solve his problem for him. He paced in front of his car. “Quick, who’s the craziest and also poorest motherfucker in our school?”

Namor scratched his head. “Uh…Barton, probably. Heard that guy sold his own liver on the black market for a couple of bootlegged Metallica concert DVDs.”

Loki snapped his fingers. “ _Yes_. Oh man, I always forget that guy even goes to our school. He looks like he’s fucking twenty five or something.”

“Not having a liver can’t be good for the aging process.”

Loki continued pacing, thoughts racing through his mind at light speed. It was a perfect plan, really. Clint Barton was a good-looking guy, and definitely nuts enough to risk the wrath of Natasha. He’d just throw a few hundred at him, get him to lock her down for a few hours, and that’s all he’d need – 

“Dude, you’re going all Rainman on me. What the fuck’s up?” Namor demanded.

Loki tossed his keys in the air and caught them. “I’m gonna lay Steve Rogers,” he grinned. “That’s what the fuck is up.”

Namor raised his eyebrows. “ _Really_. I’m pretty sure he’s out of reach. Even for you.”

“Nobody’s out of reach for me,” Loki retorted.

“Yeah?” Namor crossed his arms. “You wanna put money on that?”

“That’s the plan,” he grinned. “Thanks bro. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Whatever, Frost-dick. I think I’m gonna go do some more laps.” He took a step backwards. “Enjoy your scheming.”

“Later,” Loki called a few seconds too late. He’d lost a prize opportunity with Natasha when they were freshmen, but in a way, this was better. He imagined the headline: _Secretary Fury’s Son Caught In Gay Sex Scandal With Male Model_. Oh, he’d make a _killing_ selling that sex tape. And then he’d be infamous, a fucking force of nature in the business. The agents would start pulling for him, and the talk shows would start calling…shit, maybe he’d even get his own dating show on VH1. He almost laughed aloud at the prospect.

Sex tapes were the quickest way to the top in show business these days. His agent had shared that important piece of information with him when he’d started modeling at age thirteen, and since then, he’d been planning for it. He was somewhat well-known regionally, but it wouldn’t do to make a sex tape with just _anyone_. He’d have to do it with somebody people knew; somebody they wouldn’t expect. And then Nick Fury’d been re-elected Secretary of Public Health, using his two children as prime examples of teenage purity, and they were both hot as all hell to boot, so really he might as well have just put identical neon signs over their heads saying “PLEASE DEFILE ME”.

He’d tried it one way with Natasha, which had ended very badly, so he’d have to adjust his approach this time. The added barrier of the dating rule had complicated things, but now, his path was clear. All he had to do was pay off Clint Barton – well, _find_ Clint Barton, then pay him off – and he’d be golden.

He started his car and smirked at his reflection in the rearview mirror. "Oh, it is _on_."


	4. The Pieces Are Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tash?” Steve strode into the room, looking pissed, which was unusual for him. “Did you just maim Loki’s car?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *okay SORRY this fic is on hiatus for at least the next few weeks; I'm out of the country and have been super distracted by life and things and yeah I will actually continue it and finish it I have the whole thing mapped out my life is just not conducive to writing right now thanks guys*

“So, in conclusion,” Tony tried for a winning smile, “you can see how it would benefit _all_ of us – well, not him,” he amended, looking at Bruce, “but you and me, if we could come to some kind of arrangement here.”

Clint Barton hadn’t moved or even looked in his direction since they’d approached him on the bleachers after school. A long stream of cigarette smoke funneled from his lips and his sunglasses made it impossible to tell if he was even paying attention.

Tony shifted on his feet. “Um…”

“How much are we talking?”

Relief flooded through him. “Well, I was thinking two hundred to start; that should cover a movie, dinner, and any medical supplies you’d need to patch yourself up on the chance that she pushes you out of a moving vehicle.”

Another stream of smoke, and then, “Laufeyson’s paying me two-fifty.”

 _What_?

“You – _Loki_? How? Why?”

Clint shrugged. “Same reason as you. Wants to plow the brother.” He finally moved to glance up at them, looking a mix of amused and irritated. “What’s the deal with him anyways? He jizz small-batch whiskey or something?”

Tony’s anger flared out of nowhere. “All right, you _listen_ – ”

“Let’s all just take a breather here,” Bruce interjected, placing a firm hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Or – you know,” he amended to Clint’s cigarette, “a non-breath – nevermind. What my friend Tony here is trying to say is that his intentions, unlike Loki’s, are _pure_. Loving, even. So if you could just find it in your heart – ”

“I’ll double what Loki’s paying you,” Tony said flatly.

Clint raised his eyebrows. “To what? Take out the girl I’ve already been paid to take out by someone else? How exactly does that benefit you, again?”

 _That_ …was a good point, actually. A really good point. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll take your money,” Clint went on. “But I think the best way to look at this is: some shmuck just saved you two Benjamins, and there’s really nothing stopping you from just going after this guy yourself.”

Bruce took a seat next to Clint, who straightened, looking wary. “In that case,” he said brightly, extending his hand, “consider us your allies.”

Clint made no move to shake his hand, although Tony suspected he might do something very different to it if Bruce didn’t withdraw it soon. Thankfully, Bruce seemed to pick up on that as well, and quickly settled both his hands in his lap.

“Whatever you need help with – like, digging up dirt on her or whatever, we’re your guys,” Tony said.

Clint frowned. “You think I need to blackmail this chick into going out with me?”

“What? No, although… _no_ , I meant stuff she likes, stuff she doesn’t like, you know. Learning your tar – uh, subject. Consenting subject.” Oh god, he was sweating again.

“I _am_ learning my subject,” Clint countered, leaning forward suddenly. He was watching the girl’s soccer practice, which Tony didn’t see the relevance – oh. He and Bruce both cringed as a dark-haired girl went down screaming, clutching at her knee while a familiar looking redhead slid the ball out from underneath her.

“Preparing for a worst-case scenario?” Tony asked faintly.

“Something like that.” He snubbed out his cigarette as whistle blew to indicate the end of the practice and the girls all walked towards the bleachers to get their gear. He flashed a cocky smile at Tony and Bruce and said, “See you later, boys.”

\--

She was hot, that was for sure. He’d have accepted less money to take out a girl half as hot. It was amazing, actually, watching her on the field. She had absolute focus. While some of her teammates were chatting or trying to fix their hair and look cute for the jocks running around the track, she was deadly, precise, _totally_ ruthless when it came to taking people out. In a _practice_. He could appreciate that about a girl; it wasn’t often you came across someone who truly did not give a shit. Even he gave a shit sometimes, although he’d never admit it to anyone but himself.

Several of the guys that’d been circling the track came to talk to the girls as they grabbed their gear. A few of the girls looked around, maybe expecting someone who didn’t come. Others looked down at the ground and hurried away as their teammates chatted. The captain, Emma Frost, had three water polo players chatting her up, and the girl next to her was practically green with envy. Natasha, on the other hand, seemed to barely notice any of them. She was rooting around in her bag for something, a tiny (kind of adorable, _shut up Clint_ ) scowl painted across her features.

He took off his sunglasses. “Hey there.”

She didn’t even blink, and continued digging in her bag without pause.

“How’s it going?”

She fished out a bobby pin and used it to pin back a stray piece of hair, looking triumphant, but still not looking at _him_. “Sweating like a pig, actually, and yourself?”

He leaned forward and gave her what he hoped was a dazzling smile. “Now there’s a way to get a guy’s attention.”

She snorted and straightened up abruptly, making him take a step back without meaning to. “My mission in life,” she said dryly. “But it looks like I struck your fancy, so clearly it worked.” She rolled her eyes. “And the world makes sense again.”

Well, _this_ was going nowhere fast. And – now she was walking away. Great. He hurried after her, keeping a safe distance in case she decided to pepper spray him for what he was about to say.

“I’ll pick you up Friday, then.”

“Right. Friday,” she laughed, and there was an edge to her voice that made him uneasy, which was very bad, because Clint tended to say regrettable things when he was uneasy.

Case in point: “C’mon, I bet I could take you places you’ve never been before.” _Christ_ that sounded lame. What was he, an extra from _Jersey Shore_?

“Oh, _really_. Like where, the 7-11 on Broadway? The alley behind the Dick’s in Wallingford?” Her hand was in her bag now as she walked, and he tensed, ready to dodge a knife or bear spray or whatever the fuck weapon she had in there. “Do you even know my name, screw-boy?”

“I know a lot more than you think,” he swallowed, watching her hand. “I know you’re getting ready to punch me or possibly tase me, because you’ve got the same look on your face now as you did before laying out that girl on the field.”

She smirked. Well, they never said Clint Barton couldn’t make the girls laugh. “I don’t know who put you up to this,” she said in a low voice, and _whoa_ , okay, he was kind of turned on now. Obviously his self-preservation instinct would need to have a serious talk with his libido later. “But I promise, it is _not_ as cute as you think. Run along now.”

And he did. Well, he actually stopped, and she kept walking, and he looked at the ground because otherwise he’d check out her ass and he was pretty sure she’d sense it and come back later to castrate and/or murder him.

“And that would be a _bad_ thing,” he muttered to himself, scratching the back of his head. “Fuck.” He could feel it; interest, _attraction_ , as powerful as anything, stirring in the pit of his stomach. God, he hadn’t felt this since – well, for a long time. Over a year. Padua’s the last place he’d have expected to feel it again, but then, he’d never expected _her_.

He sighed and lit up another cigarette before strolling off the field. Damnit, he really should’ve taken that geek’s money. He’d need all the help he could get with hospital bills when she put him in a full-body cast the next time he tried to ask her out. Because, god help him, there was definitely going to be a next time. And the money had nothing to do with it.

\--

Tony hid his face in his hands as Natasha broke away from Clint, leaving their final hope standing on the edge of the field, rejection written all over his posture. “We are screwed,” he moaned, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey,” Bruce frowned. “I don’t want to hear any of that defeatist attitude, Tony Stark. I want to hear you upbeat!” He gripped Tony’s shoulder and shook him determinedly.

Tony glared at him and adopted a Valley Girl affectation. “We are _screwed_!” he cheered sarcastically.

Bruce smiled. “There you go. Now, come on. We can still swing this.”

“How?” Tony asked, gesturing to Clint, who was still standing stock-still next to the goalpost.

“Well, okay, I know that _looked_ pretty bleak – but they said at least five things to each other. I mean, she could’ve just ignored him.”

“This isn’t making me feel any better.”

“We’re scientists, Tony. We can solve this. If one approach doesn’t work, you try another. You gather _data_ ,” he said meaningfully. “You feel me?”

Tony sat up slowly. “I believe I do.”

“So?”

“So, come on.” He swung his backpack over his shoulder and stood up. “We’ve got work to do.”

 

He met Steve at the Fremont Troll, a literal concrete troll statue that occupied the space under the Fremont Bridge. Some German tourists were taking pictures of their kids climbing on it, and Tony appreciated the moment it gave him to gape, not because of the troll itself, but because it was so… _clean_. On the east coast, this would’ve been utterly defiled by graffiti and garbage and god knows what else. Seattle was definitely a weird place.

“Hey!” called a voice behind him, and he turned to see Steve jogging up. He was wearing sweatpants and a tiny white wife beater that made Tony’s brain absolutely shut down. It took several seconds before he was able to speak, and even then, his voice came out slightly mangled, as if he hadn’t properly used it in days.

“Hey,” he managed, and Steve gave him a funny look before hopping over the little barrier and climbing up onto the troll’s arm. Tony forced himself to get his limbs in order and follow. “This is cool.” He tried to appear as though he was admiring the troll’s expression instead of the boy that was clambering over it.

“Yeah, I live just down the street,” Steve said. “Used to play here all the time when I was a kid and there weren’t as many tourists.”

Tony looked wistfully at the troll, now appreciating it so much more as a part of Steve’s history. He wished _he_ had a place like this; a place that’d stayed constant. All he had in that vein from his childhood were memories of his father’s lab, and none of those were memories worth thinking about. 

Steve frowned down at him. “Tony? You okay?”

 _Snap out of it, Stark_. “Yeah, sorry,” he shook his head. “So, uh, your dad wouldn’t mind that you’re meeting me here?”

Steve laughed. “My dad’s not home, and he’s not _that_ crazy. I’m allowed to leave the house. I just can’t have a boyfriend.” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like this is a date.”

No, it wasn’t a date. Definitely not a stab to the gut either. “Well, about that,” Tony continued, bracing his hands on the troll’s broad side, “I’m afraid my guy isn’t having a lot of luck.” Steve’s brow furrowed. “Is there…is there any way you could give me some pointers? About your sister?”

“Uh…” Steve looked uncomfortable. “Well…I guess. What do you want to know?”

“Anything would be helpful at this point. Like what kinds of guys does she like?” A thought occurred to him. “Are you sure she even likes guys?”

Steve nodded. “Positive. I found a picture of that guy from the Hurt Locker in her nightstand one time. Plus…I mean, I know her.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “So, she likes…pretty guys?”

Steve shrugged helplessly. “I really have no idea. The one thing I do know is that she doesn’t like guys who smoke.” He bit his lip. “The smell reminds her of our mom.”

Tony blinked. He’d known that Steve and Natasha were adopted, but beyond that, he was completely clueless about their family. He wanted to know more, but it also made him nervous, because the idea of sharing stuff about _his_ family…well, he wasn’t in a hurry to trade stories. 

What had Steve just said? That Natasha hated _smokers_ …which, okay, he’d have to relay that to Clint and hopefully the guy could kick the habit for a few weeks at least.

“Right,” he nodded. Steve bent down to look at something and Tony squeezed his eyes shut to maintain focus, because Steve’s _back_ – “Anything else?”

Steve straightened and leaned against the troll’s face. “Honestly, I wish I knew more. She keeps that stuff locked up pretty tight.” His eyes lit up suddenly. “But I do know a place where we could get some answers.”

“Yeah?”

“It involves going behind enemy lines, if you’re game,” Steve grinned.

Tony tried and failed to suppress the butterflies that were popping up at Steve’s radiant smile. “Hell yes.”

 

And that’s how they ended up in Natasha’s room, in Steve’s house, Tony kept reminding himself, he was in Steve’s _house_ , like, half a breath away from his _room_ , where he _slept_ – of all the ways he’d imagined today going, this was better than the best of them.

“Here we go,” Steve announced, pulling open the top drawer of his sister’s desk. “Planner, membership cards, Hungarian firearms license, class schedule…” He dumped a pile of stuff into Tony’s arms. “Everything you need.”

“Hungarian…? Okay, right,” Tony said, spreading things out on the bed. “I’m guessing she’ll miss these – ” 

“Definitely.”

“ – so, I will scan them and email them to myself.” He pulled out his phone and started scanning; pausing when he realized Steve was staring at him, open-mouthed. His heart leapt for a foolish second before he realized, duh, Steve was looking at his _phone_ , not at _him_.

Steve cocked his head slightly. “What kind of phone is that?” he asked, sounding as though he half-expected Tony to reveal himself to have been a Martian all along.

Tony said, “It’s my dad’s tech,” and tried not to grimace as he said it.

Steve snapped his fingers. “Right, because your dad’s that military science guy.”

“Right.”

A sideways glance from Steve told Tony his discomfort wasn’t going unnoticed. “You know,” Steve began, looking down at his hands, “I can sort of relate – ”

“You think there’s anything else in here that could help us out?” Tony asked, suddenly desperate to change the subject. 

Steve glanced around. “Hmm.” He cocked an eyebrow at Tony mischievously and walked over to Natasha’s dresser. “If you ever tell anyone I did this, I will deny it to the grave.” Then he opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of _extremely_ lacy black panties – and no, of course Tony wasn’t thinking about _Steve_ wearing those, no sir – and a pair of handcuffs. A closer look told him they weren’t the kind sold in sex shops, either – they were real, standard-issue handcuffs. _Well_. Okay then.

“I think we can assume that she wants to have sex someday,” Steve said, looking vaguely horrified at his own discovery. “Assuming she hasn’t already. Jesus.” He shuddered and placed the items back carefully. “Now I need a shower.”

Aaaand now he was picturing Steve in the shower. Wet, naked, covered in soapsuds… _christ, Tony, get a freaking grip_. “Well, this is good info,” he said, clearing his throat. “I think it’ll be very…uh, useful.”

Steve bit his lip. “I hope so. I feel kind of guilty now, going through Tash’s stuff like this.” He frowned out the window and then looked at Tony. “Am I a bad person?”

“ _You_? Are you kidding me? No way, Steve, you’re…you’re good. I mean, it’s not like you’re reading her diary.” _Although_ , he thought privately, _a diary would’ve been very helpful_.

“Oh god, no, she’d literally kill me.” Steve’s eyes were wide. “I found one of her old diaries once when she was abroad in Budapest for a semester; it was from when she was like nine, but it was some depressing-ass Bukowski kinda shit.” He shook his head. “Never again.”

Tony looked around and tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. “So, can I see your room?” He held his breath and then wished he hadn’t asked when Steve blushed scarlet.

“Uh…well, it’s really messy…” Steve mumbled. “My stuff is all over…there’s not much to see, honestly.”

“Totally,” Tony agreed quickly, now wishing very much he had an escape route from this entire conversation. “No worries. Um, listen, I should probably get this to Clint, so.” He rubbed his chin. “Thanks, though. For taking me behind enemy lines.” Steve cracked a smile at that, and some of the tightness in his chest was relieved.

“For sure.” Steve walked past him and motioned him into the hall. “Thanks for helping me actually try and have a social life. I seriously owe you, man.”

“Well, I’m shooting for employee of the month at the tutoring center. A rave review could make all the difference,” Tony grinned, feeling more at ease now that they were out of Natasha’s room.

Steve laughed. “You got it. By the time I’m done with them, they’ll be putting you in charge of the whole place.”

And Tony froze for a second, stunned by the warmth in Steve’s tone, by the way his blue eyes gleamed when he turned to look at him over his broad shoulder, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Steve was actually kind of _flirting_ with him. And not in the sleazy sort of flash-more-of-Daddy’s-money-way that he was used to. This was something else entirely.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

\--

“Come on, you piece of shit,” Clint grumbled, shaking the dryer roughly. “Take my fucking quarter.” The machine rattled and spat the change out again. “Goddamnit.” All the other dryers were taken; he’d just have to wait. Their ancient washer/dryer unit at home had been busted for weeks; his aunt, ever the scatterbrained workaholic, had left it to him to call the repairmen, who’d informed him beyond a shadow of a doubt that their unit would never function again. And after he’d worn all his underwear inside out and backwards, he’d resigned himself to using the laundromat down the street until his aunt got her act together and procured a new unit. It was all very well for her, because she could just use her boyfriend’s at his place, but Clint was firmly opposed to anything involving Jacques. The guy was a grade-A creep and gave off a distinctly criminal vibe; Clint was 90% sure he was some kind of internet scammer.

But, whatever. His aunt was a free woman. And the laundromat was fine, except when the only free dryer was a broken one. He sighed to himself and gazed out the window, wishing he’d brought a book or a magazine or something.

A familiar looking Oldsmobile pulled into the strip mall parking lot across the street, and he couldn’t remember where he’d seen it until an athletic-looking girl climbed out, her curtain of red hair swinging behind her. And she was heading – into an ammunition store. Of course she was. That probably should’ve stopped him in his tracks, but once again, his survival instincts failed him spectacularly. 

Her expression as she came out of the store and saw him leaning against her car went from quizzical to suspicious to annoyed in the span of half a second. He decided he’d better act fast.

“Nice ride!” he grinned, patting the car affectionately and noting too late that it was completely filthy. “Vintage fenders?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you following me?”

 _Wow, paranoid much_? “No, I was just in the laundromat,” he pointed it out, “and I saw your car, so I came over to say hi.”

Her fingers unclenched from whatever they were gripping just inside her purse, which he took to be a good sign. “Hi,” she said shortly before brushing past him to open her door.

Oh, god, he was going for it again. He held her door open for her and prayed she didn’t decide to slam it on his hand. “Not a big talker, huh?”

She tossed her purse on the seat and turned to face him. “Depends on the topic. My fenders don’t exactly whip me into a verbal frenzy.”

Her tone was challenging, but her posture wasn’t defensive, he noticed. She was _confident_. “You’re really not scared of me, are you?” he asked. He knew the answer; she wasn’t. She wasn’t scared of anything. Either she didn’t know the rumors, or she just didn’t care. He found himself suddenly needing to know which one it was.

She actually laughed out loud. “Scared of you? _Please_. Why would I be scared of you?”

He shrugged. Okay, so maybe she didn’t know the rumors. “Most people are.”

“Well, I’m not,” she repeated, giving him a small smirk.

Wow. This girl really didn’t know what people said about him. There was something oddly liberating about that; like he could really be anyone right now and it wouldn’t contradict any preexisting opinions. He decided to throw caution to the winds. Again. “Well,” he grinned, leaning forward a little, “maybe you’re not afraid of me, but I bet you’ve thought about me naked.” He winked, and her eyebrows climbed closer to her hairline. A smile would’ve been better, but he’d take anything above getting kneed in the balls at this point.

“Am I that transparent?” she replied in a low voice, making him lean even closer to hear. “I want you. I _need_ you.” Then she swung the door wide open, hitting him square in the face. “Oh baby, oh baby.”

He stumbled backwards. “Okay,” he gasped, rubbing his nose. “Point…taken. I’ll uh – I’ll see you at school.”

She gave him a thumbs-up. “Can’t wait.”

He was turning to walk back towards the laundromat with as much dignity as he could muster when another familiar looking car slid into the parking lot, a horrible Skrillex remix blaring from the stereo. It was a sleek silver Audi convertible, and Clint’s gut twisted uncomfortably when Loki got out. He knew it was impossible, but he felt like Natasha would somehow just… _know_. 

Fortunately, she seemed to have already forgotten he was there. Loki had parked his car directly behind hers in the center of the parking lot, and Natasha looked murderous. “Do you mind?” she yelled as he walked past.

He tapped her hood and called back, “Not at all.”

Oh, this was going to be _bad_.

He watched her glower for several seconds, staring malevolently at the windows of the drugstore Loki’d disappeared into. Then she looked in her rearview mirror, and her expression hardened.

Clint said, “Holy – ” and then she’d slammed down on the gas, jolting her car backwards into Loki’s driver door with a hideous crunch. Oh, that was it. He was in love. This girl, this fucking girl – he’d _have_ to win her over. No question. He might die or get severely injured in the process, but shit, she was _worth_ it.

“You _bitch_!!” Loki screamed, running out of the drugstore. His face was bright red and he looked like he might say more, but Natasha revved her engine again, and he stayed silent. He rushed to his car and climbed in, holding the fractured door on with one arm. She watched him drive off and grinned, catching Clint’s eye.

“Whoops.”

Oh, yeah. She was perfect.

\--

“ _Whoops_?!” Her father’s stern face was suddenly impeding her view of the television. “My insurance doesn’t cover PMS, Tash!”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Then tell them I had a seizure.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his bald head. “Is this about Sarah Lawrence?” he asked, sitting down heavily next to her. “Are you trying to punish me because I want you to stay close to home?”

She scowled. “Aren’t _you_ punishing _me_ because you’re afraid Steve’s gonna go off the rails without me around?”

“This has nothing to do with your brother.”

“Fine.” She turned off the TV. “So, you just think I can’t be trusted to make my own decisions then.”

“Natasha, you’re a smart girl, but you’re only eighteen. What you think you want – ”

“What I _know_ I want,” she snapped back, her anger flaring, “is for you to have a little faith in me, and for you to stop trying to control my life just because you think you can somehow prevent anything bad from ever happening to me!” She threw up her hands. “You need to let me breathe, okay? I’m suffocating here!”

She immediately felt guilty at the hurt that flashed across her father’s face. It was only there for a moment, but she was a master at spotting it by now. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said evenly. “I know you don’t believe it, and I know your brother certainly doesn’t, but everything I do, I do because it’s what’s best for _you_.”

“What’s best for _me_ – ”

“Tash?” Steve strode into the room, looking pissed, which was unusual for him. “Did you just maim Loki’s car?”

Oh, no. Her brother was _not_ getting indignant on _Loki’s_ behalf. She gritted her teeth and said, “Might have. If I did, he asked for it.”

“Jesus fucking christ, Tash. What are you, off your meds are something?”

Nick stood up. “Steve, don’t talk to your sister that way.”

“Dad, are you seriously defending her?” Steve looked aghast.

“Tash made a poor _decision_ ,” their father gave her a pointed look, “but that’s no excuse – damnit,” he muttered as his phone started ringing shrilly. “Hold on. I have to take this.” He strode briskly out of the room, and Natasha let out a humorless laugh.

“Typical.”

Steve held up his hand. “Hold on. What the hell is wrong with you lately? You _know_ Loki’s like…into me, or whatever! Why can’t you just let me enjoy it?”

“Steve, it had nothing to do with you,” she lied. “I just can’t stand the guy, and he fucking provoked me.”

“Right, and you just hate him for no reason.”

“I hate him because he’s a pompous little prick,” she said flatly. “That’s a reason.”

Steve folded his arms. “I’m not stupid, you know. Johnny told me you guys used to be friends.” His voice got quiet. “I wish you’d just tell me what happened.”

And for a second, she considered it. She considered telling him about all of it. The cheerleaders who stuck their fingers down their throats, the football players who placed bets with the swimmers over who could lay the most freshmen, the pressure of finally reaching the top, only to find that everyone wants nothing more than to tear you down. She considered telling him about Loki, about what she’d done with him and how he’d treated her afterwards.

But she just couldn’t. In Steve’s world, people were still _good_. He hadn’t seen the dark and twisted parts; didn’t know just how quickly things could go wrong. Her friend Darcy told her she wasn’t protecting Steve by hiding these things from him, but Darcy didn’t _know_ Steve like she did. He wasn’t ready. And he really didn’t need to know how fucked up the world was, because she was going to protect him from it.

“Johnny’s fucking with you,” she said firmly. “Loki and I were never friends.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw working restlessly. “Sometimes, Tash, I wish you’d quit being my mom and just be my sister instead.” He jerked his head in the direction Nick had walked off in. “Helicopter Dad in there’s like a hundred parental figures already. You don’t have to make up for Mom being gone.”

There was a lump forming in her throat against her will. “That’s not what I’m doing,” she argued, trying to choke down the thickness in her voice. “Steve, I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay? I’m your sister, like you said. I _do_ have to watch out for you.”

“So attempting to total Loki’s car is you watching out for me?”

“No, that’s just Loki pissing me off,” she said honestly. “If it carries the added benefit of you not catching rides home with that sleazeball, well. That’s just a bonus.”

Her brother shook his head, but he didn’t look angry anymore. “Whatever you say, crazy person.”

She smiled up at him and momentarily debated talking to him about Clint; the weird, admittedly hot, but obnoxious guy who’d been following her around like a paid hitman. Except instead of trying to kill her, he was hitting _on_ her. Frankly, there were many times when she’d have preferred the former.

His phone buzzed and he looked down at it. “All right, I’m going to play pick-up with Bucky. Try not to cause any more property damage while I’m gone.”

She nodded and turned the TV back on. “No promises.”

It would’ve been stupid to say anything about Clint anyways. He wasn’t anything to her. Certainly not intriguing, or attractive. “Nothing to tell,” she muttered to herself as she watched Steve jog down the street through the window. The unspoken word lingered in her mind. _Yet_.


End file.
